


Sick Of Losing Soulmates (So Why Don't We Begin?)

by maxiswriting



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley and Anathema Device are Friends (Good Omens), F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, in which your soulmate's first words to you are tattooed on your skin, its THERE, the angst is not that big but still, they're besties and you can pry that headcanon from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21533968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxiswriting/pseuds/maxiswriting
Summary: Everyone always asks Crowley what he thinks his soulmate might be like. Little do they know, Crowley has already met him -it was a long, long time ago, when they were still children and everything still felt possible. Little do they know, the very same day Crowley found his soulmate, he was ripped away from him.(What Crowley doesn't know, is that the universe always finds a way. And if the universe's way includes giving him a killer headache, well, who are we to argue with the Ineffable Plan?)
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale (Good Omens) & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device
Comments: 10
Kudos: 213





	Sick Of Losing Soulmates (So Why Don't We Begin?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [m_kai_png](https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_kai_png/gifts).



> No beta we die like men.  
>   
> So!! Almost 5 months later, here is my birthday gift for the one and only [@demurphart](https://demurphart.tumblr.com)!! Sorry this took so long dude, ily <33  
>   
> Can you believe this is my first Good Omens fic? I've been a fan of the book first and the series later for so long, I'm honestly surprised it took me this long to actually write something for it :')  
>   
> I hope you guys like it, comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated!

Anthony J. Crawly is very familiar with the concept of soulmates -but honestly, who isn't?

The idea of there being someone, one specific person somewhere in the universe who's meant to complete you and understand you in ways no one else could ever achieve… why wouldn't people love it?

The words written on his forearm itch under the long sleeves of his jacket, almost as if they were trying to make him take it off and let the world see them.

 _"W-what?"_ His soulmark reads, the first words he'll ever hear his soulmate pronounce.

During his younger years -when he still didn't cover his soulmark 24/7, when Crowley still answered to his full name because "it's ancient, Crawly, and a symbol of power. Why wouldn't you want to use it?- people used to wonder what exactly might cause them.

(He heard quite a lot of assumptions during those years, some less nice than others. If Crowley has to be honest, that's probably one of the reasons he started covering his arms more in the first place.)

What people don't know though, is that he already knows the cause of that single question burning on his skin. Crowley knows the tone his soulmate used to voice it -confused, mostly, bright blue eyes staring back at him from behind loose strands of golden curls- and knows what his soulmate's mark says -" _Well, that went down like a lead balloon,"_ written in an elegant, neat handwriting on the fairest skin Crowley has ever seen.

Crowley remembers being 12 years old and already feeling so much older, the weight of his adoptive family's name pushing on his shoulders even when all he ever wanted was to run away.

Crowley remembers watching from the bench as the principal's kids, Adam and Eve, got scolded for trying to get an Apple from the tree in the middle of the courtyard by scaling it.

Crowley remembers a little, amused smile making its way on his face, the small quip falling from his lips almost naturally.

Crowley remembers hearing the same question written on his forearm being stuttered out by a boy standing beside him, prompting him to whip his head around so quickly he still remembers hearing his neck crack.

"I said _'that one went down like a lead balloon'_ " he remembers repeating, voice just barely above a whisper as he slowly realized what was actually happening.

"O-oh!" He remembers his soulmate -his fucking soulmate, holy shit- saying, obvious delight seeping into his voice as a smile slowly started spreading on his face.

"I'm Aziraphale, nice to meet you!" The boy had grinned, extending his hand.

"I'm… everyone calls me AJ," he had answered, taking it, "and the pleasure's all mine, _angel_."

(Crowley remembers thinking that the surprised giggles coming out of Aziraphale's mouth or the rosy blush covering his cheeks had no business being as adorable as they were, really.)

They had chatted all recess long, talking and talking about that kind of things two 12 years old who have just found their soulmate share.

It had been fun and for the first time in a long while, Crowley had felt genuinely happy.

Then, his father decided to move.

("Lucifer Industries is opening a new branch in Los Angeles -it will be a great opportunity for our business, I'm sure you all understand.")

What Crowley regrets most is not having been able to say goodbye.

* * *

Years pass, boring and uneventful.

Crowley grows from an unruly 12 years old to a very unruly young adult, tossing aside the name his family had pushed on him and choosing to go by something that felt more like him - _Crowley_ had always sounded nice to his ears. He's on his own side now, and that's all he ever wanted to be.

As for Aziraphale, well… he has never been one to shun his family like that, even as they keep adding more and more pressure on his shoulders.

They laugh when he shows genuine interest in literature, or when he gets excited about the smallest of things.

"We're doctors, Aziraphale, saving lives is our job. The only books you'll ever need are anatomy tomes, silly."

He just smiles and nods, clutching tightly the novel hidden behind his back.

They just want what's best for him, Aziraphale often reminds himself as he pushes away the shame and frustration.

They’re doing this because they love him. That should be enough, right?

(Hint: it’s not, it never has been. He’s just too afraid to admit it out loud, and of the consequences it might entail.)

And when everything just becomes too much -when Michael’s casual remarks make shame crawl under his skin and Gabriel’s haughty smile makes him want to hide and never come out again- Aziraphale finds himself reminiscing about that fateful day, about brown eyes twinkling in mischief and flaming red hair glinting in the sunlight.

Sometimes, he wonders what ever happened to his soulmate, what made him suddenly disappear the way he did.

Sometimes, he wonders if it might have been his fault.

* * *

Crowley stares at the building from behind his signature dark shades, taking in what will officially be his home for the next year or so.

“Rather dull, if you ask me,” he finally remarks, fighting down a yawn. Beside him, Anathema throws him an amused glare.

“Aways gotta complain, don’t you?” she asks, shaking her head. “Besides, it’s still better than home, right?”

“Oh, anything is better than that place, no doubts about it,” Crowley agrees before stretching his arms up in the air.

“C’mon,” he says, grabbing his luggage and moving towards the building’s entrance, “let’s go find our rooms.”

* * *

“Now, my dear, do you want some hot chocolate?”

The young man in question raises his head from his textbook, gazing blearily at his roommate through his skewed glasses. The only noise that comes out of his mouth is a very confused “what”, causing Aziraphale’s eyebrows to lift in visible concern.

“Oh Dear,” he mutters, carefully setting down the mugs in his hands, “Newt, did you spend again the entire day cooped up in here studying? Honestly, you should know by now how not good that is for you!”

“You do the exact same thing when you buy a new book,” Newt points out, pointedly ignoring the way his eyes burn in exhaustion as he fixes his glasses.

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Aziraphale tuts, “even I can see that you need to take a break before you run yourself to the ground.”

Newt lets out a tired groan, head hitting one of the open books scattered across the table.

“If I make all the devices in the computer room break down _again_ , Professor Shadwell will have my head.”

Aziraphale sighs, putting a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. “My dear, if you keep this up I’m afraid you won’t even manage to reach the computer room in the first place.”

Another tired whine is all Aziraphale gets as a response, followed by unintelligible mumbling.

“How about you go take a little stroll outside?” Aziraphale proposes, urging Newt to stand up, “it’ll surely do you good to get out a little after having spent so much time inside -and some fresh air might help clear your head a little.”

“Y-yeah,” Newt relents stifling down a yawn as he stretches his arms in the air, “maybe you’re right.”

“I’ll make sure to keep your hot chocolate warm for when you come back!” Aziraphale calls after him as he moves towards the door.

“That sounds perfect, Aziraphale,” Newt says, smiling tiredly and stepping out of their shared apartment, “see you later!”

And just like that, he’s gone. Aziraphale fondly shakes his head, moving to tidy up the table a little bit -Newt might be a great guy, no doubts about that, but “organized” is not a word people would use to describe him.

(Most would describe him as a rather nice guy with quite the penchant for bad luck. Other people -most of them being his fellow Computer Engineering majors who’ve had their laptop and/or technological devices busted at least once while in his general vicinity are fond of calling him a “walking human disaster who should not be allowed near a computer under any circumstances whatsoever.”)

However, he can’t even start lifting the first stack of books that a muffled _thud_ breaks the silence from outside the door, followed by a very loud and very annoyed voice reaching Aziraphale’s ears.

“Goddamnit Crowley!”

* * *

Crowley just wanted to take a fucking nap.

Like, can you even blame him? He’d just gotten down from a 10+ hours flight, he was sleep-deprived as fuck because the kid behind him wouldn’t stop kicking his goddamn seat and honestly, his patience was running so thin he was pretty sure the only reason he hadn’t killed someone yet was because he was legit too tired to do so.

(“But murder is illegal!” you might say.

“I don’t give a flying fuck!” Crowley would answer, flipping you off as he goes his merry way.)

Point is, the last thing on his mind when he stepped out of the elevator was to pay attention to his surroundings. Actually, the first (and probably only) thing in his mind was currently to reach the first horizontal surface that was not the floor and pass the fuck out for _at least_ a week.

What can he say? The man likes his sleep.

Anyway, what Crowley was not expecting was to find himself colliding face-first into another person, curses already falling from his lips as they both tumble to the floor.

Anathema, who had tried -and failed- to warn him, lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Goddamnit Crowley!” she exclaims, visibly annoyed.

“Fuck you too, witch,” Crowley shots back, visibly having stopped giving ay fucks and currently considering just sleeping on the floor and calling it a day.

Anathema just rolls her eyes, far too used to Crowley’s antics by now to act offended, and side-steps him to check on the other guy.

(She also ignores Crowley’s half-mumbled “rude”, limiting herself to kindly flipping him off.)

“How are we feeling now?” she asks, peering down at the stranger.

Said stranger stares back, blinking owlishly up at her.

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuh,” he articulates, making Anathema wonder if he somehow managed to get himself a concussion, “am I dead?”

Anathema stiffens, eyes widening as the boy’s words register in her mind. “What?”

The boy opens his mouth again, probably to say something else, but gets interrupted by the sound of one of the doors in the corridor opening.

“Newt?” calls Aziraphale, stepping out of the apartment, “Newt, dear, why are you on the floor?”

“Aziraphale, I think I just met an angel,” the boy -Newt- answers, still not looking away from Anathema as a small, dopey grin starts stretching on his face.

 _Yup_ , Anathema thinks, _definitely a concussion_.

Then, she freezes for the second time in not even five minutes, head snapping towards the newcomer. _Wait, did he just call him Aziraphale?_

“Could it be…?” she whispers, turning to look at Crowley, who’s now sitting up ad staring at Aziraphale as if someone had just told him his Bentley had ended up at the bottom of a lake.

“Sounds great, my boy,” Aziraphale sighs, completely unaware of the two people staring at him as he gently hauls Newt to his feet, “come on, I think it’s better if we get you back to the flat to rest, uh?”

“Wait!” Anathema calls out, “I can do that, don’t worry about it.”

Aziraphale turns towards her then, obviously hesitant. “Well-”

“He’s my soulmate!” she blurts out before she can stop herself, “I have some first-aid training, and I would like to make sure he’s okay. Please?”

“Oh, really? You’re Newt’s soulmate?” Aziraphale grins, relaxing, “yeah, of course, you can help me move him to the couch-”

“I… actually think it’s better if I do it alone.” Anathema presses on, giving Aziraphale a reassuring smile, “something tells me you and my friend need to have a little talk.”

“Uh?” Aziraphale blinks, confused, but the girl doesn’t answer -she just grabs Newt’s shoulder and helps him towards the apartment, sending Crowley a thumbs-up.

“Ngk,” Crowley says, very eloquently.

That’s when Aziraphale finally notices the guy sitting on the floor a few feet away from him, a pair of wide brown eyes staring up at him in shock from behind a pair of sunglasses.

Aziraphale cocks his head to the side. “You look familiar, my dear,” he says, frowning, “I’m sorry, have we met already?”

Crowley lets out another string of unintelligible garbling, his only functioning braincell having decided to just pack its bags and go live on bloody Alpha Centauri or something.

Unfortunately -for him- Anathema knows him all too well, and promptly pokes her head out of the still-open apartment door to yell at him.

“Anthony J. Crowley, stop being an absolute disaster gay and speak to your fucking soulmate!”

Aziraphale freezes, eyes widening more and more by the second as he looks at Crowley.

“... Anthony?” he asks, almost hopeful.

Crowley nods slowly, still looking stunned in place. “Hi, ‘Zira.” 

“You’re- you’re here.”

“I am.”

“Why-” Aziraphale takes in a deep breath, willing his voice not to break- “why did you leave?”

Crowley sighs, looking away as he draws his knees closer to his chest. “I didn’t want to,” he admits, “our father made us move away to LA the day after we met.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, “I… I see. How did you get back, then?”

Crowley scratched the back of his neck, smiling nervously up at him. “It’s, uh, kind of a long story.”

“Well, I suppose we’ve got all afternoon,” Aziraphale smiles, offering his hand, “can I tempt you to a nice cup of hot chocolate, my dear?”

Crowley can’t help but feel his grin widen in response, accepting his soulmate’s hand. “Sounds great.”

Aziraphale hums, helping him stand up.

“Perfect,” he says, blue eyes crinkling in barely concealed delight, “Oh and Anthony-”

“It’s Crowley, actually,” Crowley corrects him, “I prefer to go by that, now.”

“I see,” Aziraphale nods, smiling, “Then, welcome back, Crowley.”

(And if they keep holding hands while they walk towards Aziraphale apartment, well, no one has to know but them, right?)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr at [@maxiswriting](https://maxiswriting.tumblr.com) or join my [Discord Server](https://discord.gg/jswxCA7) to hear me cry at three in the morning bc I can't write for shit, I need friends anyways :')


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